Chimneys
by Sinematic
Summary: You take away the bad-the noxious gas, the suffocating smoke-and you've helped make me warm again; we will blaze on together, always. For the Gwuncan fans c:
1. Flicker

**Hey lovely Gwuncan shippers! Thanks for reading c:**

Chimneys

GWEN POV

I lit my cigarette carefully, trying not to burn my fingers again. I was still new to this. I put my lips on the flue and took a breath in, anticipating the reaction I had scientifically deduced from the last cigarette I'd smoked-currently ashes in the gravel behind me. I let the smoke hit the back of my throat until I was sure I had a decent lungful. As if on cue, I then retched and sputtered and hacked as my shoulders heaved rhythmically with my lungs and I had to steady myself against a tree to keep from falling to my knees.

Eventually I just sat down and puffed on the last of my cigarette, giving in to my fits of coughing. I watched the dwindling embers reach the blue smudge where my lips had been; it looked like a scene some poser wannabe kid would post on whatever social media they used, captioned with the lyrics of their favorite sad song. I threw the butt out into the river, mildly disgusted with the thought of being compared to someone like that.

It wasn't that I thought I was better than Starbucks loving, selfie taking, ponytail wearing, fake tanned cheerleaders; I just didn't like them. I didn't respect them, and I definitely didn't look up to them like everyone else seemed to do. This was based solely on my experiences with this type of female.

So there I sat, alone on the side of the river, pale as printer paper, skinny as a twig, boobs-perky as a hardwood floor, hacking on clove cigarettes next to a pile of melting snow. It was spring, and although I loved the barren wasteland winter delivered, I appreciated the rising temperatures.

Looking out at the icy river made me realize how badly my throat was hurting. I cursed myself for not grabbing a water bottle or something before walking all the way out here.

I know what you're thinking; why would a girl of average intelligence go running off blindly with only a pack of cancer sticks? Well I'll tell you. It was to stare blearily eyed out at the rushing river in solitude and do something self-destructive, because that's what people with broken hearts do.

DUNCAN POV

I ducked behind a building and waited, trying to keep control of my heavy breathing. I briefly considered joining the track team to get in better shape, but quickly shook the crazy thought from my head. Me? A jock? Yeah, _right._ I'd rather go back to juvie.

Speaking of good ol' juvenile detention, I stood motionless against the wall in hopes that I wouldn't be caught and actually sent back. I supposed being a jock wouldn't be _that_ bad. I heard two pairs of feet clomp by, jingling keys accompanying their every step. Honestly, I was surprised that the janitors hadn't called the cops yet; I mean, I did spray paint a giant blue skull & crossbones on the side of the school. That shit wasn't going anywhere, anytime soon, without some serious elbow grease. Why would janitors be at school on a Sunday night anyway? They needed to form a union or something.

After a few more seconds, the footsteps seemed to have died away. Taking the opportunity, I launched off the side of the building and ran as quietly as I could manage to the parking lot, hiding amongst the cars. I skidded on the gravel and dropped to one knee, concealed by a giant, ugly orange Escalade. I knew if I could get through the soccer field, I could make it to the bridge and I'd be home free.

Suddenly, there was a beam of light next to my shoe. I quickly yanked my foot into the shadows.

_" 'Oy! The kid's probably hiding in the car park!"_ a gruff voice called out.

And then it was time to run.

Pressing my hand to my pocket to stifle any metal clinking between the spray paint, my knife, and a handful of loose change, I pawed around the gravel with my other hand until I felt a sizable, sharp rock. I picked it up and chucked it to the right of where I was hiding, hoping it wouldn't seriously scrape a car.

"_Did you hear that?"_ a muffled voice asked excitedly.

"_Shaddup_!" another voice hissed back, _"Go check over there."_

Taking advantage of my genius distraction, I ran off towards the soccer field. The worn down rubber soles of my shoes were soundless against the gravel. I felt as if I'd made it half way across the soggy field before I heard undistinguished yelling, although I swore I heard someone say 'bridge'.

Those pricks didn't give up easy. I decided to cut through the woods to the riverbank, hoping I could find a shallow place to cross instead of running all the way to the bridge. After that, it was just a short jog home. I pulled my hood up over my head and flew past bare branches, ignoring the tiny cuts I felt springing up on my hands. The woods were thin enough, but the ground was lumpy and I wasn't graceful. I tripped a few times and got a nice face full of dirt. I was spitting leaves out of my mouth when I saw the river; it looked shallow, but it was also quite the distance to safety.

God DAMN that water was freezing. I crossed in a few quick strides and leapt to the riverbank, splashing watery mud in all directions. I could feel the cold water sloshing around in my shoes. Starting the short hike up the hill between the river and the bike path, I patted my pockets to make sure all my belongings were in place. Spray paint? _Check_. Pocketknife? _Check_. Wallet? Phone? Lighter? _Check, check, check._ Juice box? _Check._ ...It's important to stay hydrated! Doing criminal stuff is hard work.

I walked to the top, squishing with every step, and looked around to make sure I hadn't been followed. Then, I heard it.

Coughing.

My heart picked up double time, and I slowly turned to see the janitors with angry faces and police officers with their heavy silver flashlights.

Only, it wasn't any of those dudes. It was just a girl, huddled against a tree, hacking on a cigarette. I could see short blue hair stuffed underneath her black knit cap, so I immediately had a connection with her-people with crazy hair colors stick together, and that's a fact.

And suddenly a flash overcame me, and all I could see was me, four years younger, huddled under the bridge up the road, trying, and failing, to smoke my first cigarette. I remembered how badly my throat had hurt and how, in a moment of panic, I'd scooped a mouthful of the murky water to drink. I remember why I'd been driven to smoke that first cigarette, and I figured that this girl was probably in a similar situation.

I started walking over, and she of course looked up because no one could possibly miss the loud, wet squelching of my steps. She made no move to leave, but she stared at me like a baby deer in approaching headlights. Had I really looked that scary? Awesome.

As I got closer, I inspected this girl a bit. She was tiny, and she was wearing a lot of makeup; her lips were painted blue and she was sporting raccoon eyeliner. I'd encountered a goth.

"What do you want?" she asked, frowning, when I was like ten feet away. Her voice cracked.

I put up my hands. "Whoa, take it easy, honey. I couldn't help but notice your sorry attempt at smoking and thought I'd offer some tips."

"Oh," was all she said.

I motioned to the spot beside her. "Can I sit?"

She shrugged. It seemed like she was trying to be nonchalant about my presence, but I definitely caught her checking me out as I took a seat next to her. The grass was surprisingly dry.

I pulled out a pack of my own and easily lit up a stog, breathing it in like it was air.

"How did you do that without coughing, and like, dying?" she asked.

"Practice," I said simply, taking another drag. I blew a warm puff of smoke in her direction, to which she made a face and flapped her hand in front of her nose. I showed her the proper way to hold her lighter and taught her a few rules. Don't get spit on the filter, don't wait until the dead end of the cigarette to put it out, and try to remember a drink if you're just a beginner because you WILL have a roasted throat.

"Here," I said, offering her my unopened juice box. I could tell she needed it.

She smiled, apparently bewildered by my choice of fluid, and accepted. After a few noisy slurps, she lowered the box from her mouth and held out her hand to me. "I'm Gwen," she said, trying to keep a serious face.

I grinned my best toothy grin and took her hand. "I'm Duncan."

GWEN POV

When I first set my eyes on Duncan, I could only see the silhouette of a man. My thoughts immediately jumped to the-boy-who-broke-my-heart (who will hence forth be abbreviated as TBWBMH), and how maybe he'd come home to find me to tell me that he was sorry and that he loved me, but I quickly closed the door on those thoughts. If my memory were laid out like a series of halls and rooms, there would be an entire neighborhood of connecting apartment buildings dedicated to TBWBMH alone. It was better to close that door than to get lost in those halls; the air in those apartments was full of poison, after all.

I dug my nails into the skin of my wrist to keep the terrible thoughts from pouring down my cheeks.

When Duncan came into clearer view, I could see that he was not, in fact, TBWBMH, but rather a grungy, dirty boy I'd never seen before with limp green hair dangling over his pierced face and pockets presumably bulging with spray paint cans and switchblades. Trouble seeped from his every pore.

But then he sat down next to me, showed me how to not burn my fingers on my lighter, and gave me a juice box to slake my burnt throat. Grape. Not my favorite, but still appreciated. I held out my hand and he shook it; there was something lovely about it.

"So, what are you doing out here anyway?" he asked, tapping ash from the tip of his cigarette. The way he asked made me think he already had an idea. He continued, "There's lots of other places for a minor to smoke, you know."

I didn't reply. I stared straight out at the rushing water and I thought about the day TBWBMH introduced me to hookah; he made smoking look like an art. He created cloudy ballerinas that danced circles around the room. It was beautiful. I snatched Duncan's cigarette from his fingers and took a long, angry drag. I wanted to cough, but I held it in behind a glare. Smoking wasn't pretty anymore.

Duncan nodded knowingly, letting me keep the steaming cigarette for myself. I felt a wave of selfishness, but I let it go. He's the one who sat by me.

"Someone broke your heart, huh?" he asked casually, like he'd just mentioned something arbitrary, like the weather.

"What?! No?!"

...I had never been very good at lying.

"I get it!" he said, pulling out another cigarette, "I've been there before."

"You have?" I asked skeptically. Maybe he once loved a piercing rack.

Duncan was quiet. I looked over, and clearly it was his turn to stare out at the river in deep thought. I started to rethink my judgmental thoughts when he spoke. "So, what do you wanna do about this person?"

"That person is a he, thank you very much!" I said. Duncan smiled mischievously. His eyes glowed orange from the lighter's glow.

"You never know," he said, shrugging. I grinned back at him, so he continued. "So are you going to win him back? Egg his house? Hold him hostage until he loves you? What's the plan, Pasty?" He was still smiling, and I began to chuckle. I'd never considered taking TBWBMH hostage; it seemed so absurd and opposite of my intentions I just had to laugh.

"Well?" Duncan prodded, stopping to suck another breath of smoke from his pipe. My laughter died. There was only one acceptable thing I could say.

"I...um," I stopped talking and sighed. Suddenly I was exhausted. "I just want to get over it," I said weakly, burying my head in my arms.

But, I didn't want to get over it. I wanted him to _love_ me again. I wanted to feel the sugary warmth of catching myself smiling because of him. I wanted to feel his arms around me and his fingers curling into my sides. I wanted the words he had said to have meant something.

Duncan waited a few moments to speak, like he either zoned out of the conversation or he was actually thinking of a response. Out of the silence he said abruptly, "I don't think you can ever really get over someone. I think you just have to man up and push through it until it doesn't...hurt so bad." I peeked up from my arms to look at him; he was leaned back on the tree and looking up at the stars. He exhaled, and a stream of smoke poured from his lips.

All at once, I had an overwhelming need to get away from Duncan. He watched with a questioning look as I jumped to my feet. "I, um, I think, I, um, I need to go," I sputtered, turning to leave. Duncan ignored me and snapped around to look behind him, listening to something far beyond me.

"Wait!" he whispered sharply. He stood up, grabbed my upper arms, and pulled me back against the tree we had been sitting by. I was completely caught off guard.

"Duncan!" I cried, "What are you-"

"Shush!" he scolded. He was looking off behind me. I did _not_ like being shushed.

"What the hell-" I started to yell; he clamped his hand over my mouth.

"I'm serious. Be quiet," he whispered. I began to hear voices off in the distance.

"Who's that?" I asked underneath his palm, a muffled sound. Duncan just moved into me, pinning me against the tree. He was surprisingly warm, with the exception of the bottom of his pants. Cold water dripped from his jeans and seeped through my tights. I ripped his hand away from my mouth, but he was too focused on whoever was coming to care. We stayed like that for thirty seconds, give or take, with only our breathing audible. Then I saw beams of light, and I heard the voices from before approaching.

Duncan stopped peering around the tree and brought his face centimeters away from mine. Our eyes locked. He looked so...protective. I was certain I looked positively terrified.

We waited another minute as the flashlight-wielding group went by, static radio chatter accompanying them. Duncan and I were paralyzed in place. I didn't feel so scared anymore, because watching Duncan was weirdly calming. It was obvious he was used to hiding, and he knew what he was doing. His eyes would flicker from my own to behind me at the people, who, by the way, were directly next to us at that point. I watched his sticky lips part open a tiny crack to let a silent breath of air out; it smelled like smoke and pink bubblegum. I counted the piercings on his face. _One two three four._ And his ears. _One two three four five._ I wondered if he had anything else pierced, or maybe tattooed.

Eventually, Duncan backed up from me, grinning ear to ear.

"Who were those people?" I hissed, shoving his shoulder with a shaky hand.

He continued to smile. "You didn't think you could hang out with a criminal and not face off with the cops once or twice, did you?"

I was speechless. We were almost caught by the cops for smoking, along with whatever else Duncan may have done, and he was just standing there, grinning like an idiot.

"You idiot!" I yelled.

His dark brows furrowed. "I just helped you not get caught, Sunshine, so you better change your tone." He looked at his palm and made a face when he saw my blue lipstick smeared there. He wiped it on the sleeve of his hoodie.

Again, I was speechless. Duncan just smirked and began walking backwards up the trail. "See ya around, Gwen." He turned around.

As I watched Duncan walk away, any feeling of anger or frustration left me and it was all I had not to run after him. "Duncan!" I froze. "...Goodbye!" I called pitifully, rooted to where I stood. But when he turned around to smile at me, I knew that it was not goodbye.


	2. Ember

**Thank you to my reviewers Wilhelm Wigworthy, Anon 1, play for keeps, UnicornButler, Anon 2, and all who read, followed, and favorited :3 you rock! **

Chimneys 2

DUNCAN POV

It had been about three weeks since my first encounter with Gwen. She wasn't anything like the hot but bitchy ladies I always seemed to be involved with, but I still found myself thinking about her way more than I should've. I doubt I would ever complain about holding a chick up against a tree, because, I mean, primal instincts and nature and all, but if I'd tried that with Courtney (she hates me but she still totally wants me) she would've complained about the water and bark and bugs and would've yelled at me for smoking, probably for hours. Gwen was mad I wasn't taking our situation seriously, but really, I don't take anything seriously. It's one of my charms.

Another one of my charms is being criminally active, and because stuck-up, preppy babes are really into 'bad boys', I'm frequently reminded of how charming I am-if ya know what I mean.

Don't get me wrong, I don't do what I do for the chicks. They're just a bonus that comes along with my lifestyle. I simply don't like being told what to do, by anyone, ever. Now when it's a bossy girl in a tight skirt, that's a different story. But when it's someone who thinks that they're above me on some level and they think that gives them the right to shove me around, that's when I have a problem. I spent my whole childhood with a gritty, calloused old man stepping on me every chance he got; I wasn't about to live the rest of my life that way. Sometimes I think that's the reason I pick on the nerds, but that's when I have to stop thinking. I can't have morals getting in the way of my fun, can I? The nerds of today are the rule-makers of tomorrow, and there's nothing I hate more than rules.

I do what I do because I have an insatiable urge to break the rules and challenge the authorities.

And because doing illegal stuff is fun.

That's why I was in the middle of spray-painting my name, not my real name, obviously, under the bridge. I shook my paint can, deducing that it was about half full, and kept painting letters. I began on the letter F when I heard rocks clattering off the side of the bridge. I looked up to see black clothes, white skin, and blue lips.

"Sunshine!" I greeted happily, "What brings you down here?"

GWEN POV

It had been an emotional roller coaster of a day when I read some good advice: _"Never, and I mean never, re-read old conversations with someone who used to mean the world to you, or you will end up sobbing on the floor eating straight-up hot cocoa power"_. The irony of this was that I had just eaten half a carton of ice cream and had bits of black tear lines streaming down my face. Why? I had happened across a pez dispenser TBWBMH had once held. The day before, a similar occurrence had happened when I heard a snippet of a song TBWBMH once sang to me.

I know what you're thinking! You're thinking that this girl is pathetic. And I couldn't have agreed more. But the thing was, TBWBMH took the strings inside me, and he twisted them up into tangled knots and bows, cinching them tight and holding them like cement and glue. I was simply in the process working those knots free. Sometimes this is an easy job, but other times, it's as difficult as washing every last fiber of gum from a frayed string. I guess this was one of those times.

When someone hurts you, really hurts you, it rarely stops hurting completely. There's always going to be a small piece of you that throbs with a familiar pain when you pass that certain restaurant or smell that special flower or watch that stupid movie.

Duncan's words had made that very clear to me. Although he was a stranger to me, he wasn't a stranger of heartbreak, and he summarized that terrible feeling we all have but can't seem to express: "I don't think you can ever really get over someone. I think you just have to man up and push through it until it doesn't...hurt so bad."

Speaking of Duncan, I hadn't stopped thinking of him for weeks. Usually my mind was swarmed with TBWBMH, but suddenly minuscule clips of Duncan had been interjected into my brain, popping up at the most inconvenient of times. The week before, during history, I read all about the Mohawk Native Americans while I was supposed to be filling out a quiz. A few days later, during math, I changed all the word problems from apples to earrings and peanuts to cigarettes.

And speaking of cigarettes, I'd really had an itch. Sadly, I'd run out that morning, only adding to the tears and the chocolate ice cream stains, to create a pretty shitty day.

I suppose that was why I'd been out that evening. I was trying to escape the sad atmosphere I'd created in my dark room, but I also had a feeling that I was looking for something. The day had seemed warm enough, so I left my coat on the floor of my room, opting for a cardigan instead. After lacing up my boots, I set off on my quest to find whatever it was I'd lost.

But who would've guessed that something was Duncan? Or cigarettes? Honestly, it might have been both. Either way, my heart leapt in my chest when I saw him standing under the bridge, a cigarette in one hand and a can of spray paint in the other.

When he saw me, his face broke out into a bright smile, giving me a foreign warm feeling in my chest that I wasn't sure I liked. "Sunshine!" he greeted, "What brings you down here?"

Cigarettes. You.

I ignored his question and grinned. "Is that the delinquent? Who let you out of your cage?"

Duncan grasped at his heart dramatically. "Ouch! You got me, Sunshine, right in the heart."

I giggled and walked over to where he stood, surveying the wall in front of him. I squinted at the letters and put a hand to my chin. "I find this piece bland and one dimensional," I told him in my best stodgy old professor voice.

"Ha-ha," he fake laughed, amusement playing on his grin. "I'm not done yet, critic."

"Are you... 'scruf'?" I asked. It might've seemed like a genuine question if it hadn't been for my tone, which was far beyond teasing at this point.

Duncan's face reddened. "Scruffy, when I'm done."

"Who's Scruffy?"

"My pet tarantula!"

"That's rad!" I yelled excitedly. It echoed through the concrete tunnel we stood inside.

"Shhh!" he half-scolded half-chuckled, "Do you want me to get caught?"

I thought this over and grinned mischievously. "What do I get if I say no?"

Duncan's mouth opened in surprise. "What do you- _what do you get?_" he sputtered, "You get _not_ tossed in that river over there! That's what you get, Pasty!"

I started laughing and he couldn't help but join in. He offered me a cigarette and I gladly accepted. After that, I sat on the dry concrete floor of the bridge and sent tiny, burning leaves spiraling out into the calm river current while Duncan worked on his vandalistic art piece. And when I watched him paint, I fell into watching his figure as well. He occasionally swung his limp, long green mohawk hair out of his eyes, he tugged on his belt loop when he was thinking, and he bit his tongue when he was really concentrating on details. I watched his tongue glide over his lip ring and wondered if that ever got in the way when he kissed.

As he was putting the final touches on the Y, I got curious. "Can I paint something?" I asked.

Duncan just snorted and went back to his wall.

I frowned. "What?"

"I'm almost out," he declared without looking away.

"So let's go buy some! There's a hardware store on 6th that stays open late!" I suggested excitedly.

Again, he snorted. "Sunshine, Sunshine, Sunshine..." he crooned mockingly.

"What?!"

Duncan turned to roll his eyes at me. "You see, Sunshine, the thing about vandalism with spray paint is that you can't do it with store bought paint. It has to be stolen, or it doesn't count as criminal. You might as well be a beanie-wearing hipster with thick glasses and thrift store plaid pants making an artistic statement about world hunger, or some shit, if you're gonna _buy_ spray paint!"

My eyes narrowed and I said, "World hunger is a serious issue!"

"Nerd," he smirked, going back to his painting.

Normally, I would've been ticked if someone was making light of a serious situation like that, but I found I could easily forgive Duncan. In fact, there didn't seem to be anything to forgive. That was just how Duncan was. I smiled.

"Don't worry, one of these days I'll take you to get a proper criminalized can of paint," he said, still looking at his masterpiece.

"I didn't want to do it to be a criminal," I insisted sourly, "I just wanted to doodle something."

"Like what? A flower? A turtle?" he scoffed.

I took a drag of cigarette and blew it in his direction. "You'll never know now!"

He raised an eyebrow. "Now I'm curious!"

"Exactly," I said, grinning.

Duncan just smiled and shook his head. He stepped back and dusted off his hands, looking over his freshly painted piece. _'SCRUFFY'_ was written in bubbly green letters across the tunnel wall.

"Finished?" I asked. He nodded dumbly, staring at the wall for any imperfections. Now, it wasn't the most incredible spray paint artwork I'd seen, but it still looked great and the shading was amazing. He'd added eight furry spider legs off the name.

"It's awesome!" I told him genuinely, squeezing his arm, "I'm sure Scruffy would love it."

He beamed down at me. Beaming was once described to me as the crooked, fat, yellow crayon line a kid would draw for his messy creation's smiling mouth. The definition seemed to fit Duncan. He looked down from my face to his arm-where my hands were still locked. He kind of smiled, I think. It looked like he was going to say something, but he took a glance at his watch instead and his eyes widened.

"Pasty... Do you have a curfew?"

"I just gotta be back before my parents get home," I replied, searching his greeny blue eyes.

"Oh... good," he smiled, relieved. It was one of those smiles that gives a person tingly warm feelings. I shivered. _Was he glad I didn't have to leave yet?_

"Yeah..." I grinned back. "What time is it exactly?"

"Like twelve thirty," Duncan shrugged, going back to looking at his wall.

"What?!" I screamed, echoing all over the place and making Duncan jump, "I have to get home!"

I waited for Duncan to say something, but he just stood there, blinking.

"Um, you better go then!" he said.

Typical man.

DUNCAN POV

Gwen kinda rolled her eyes as she walked out from the bridge. I watched her butt as she walked; for a skinny girl, it wasn't a bad sight! I kind of just stood there and soaked the sight in until a giggle broke me out of my trance. I quickly shook my head; Gwen was standing there, laughing at me. She had noticed my creepiness but thought it was funny? That doesn't happen every day.

I decided that I should probably offer to walk her home-just to protect her from the creeps, other than myself, that could be out. I hastily grabbed my stuff and jogged to catch up with her.

"Wait up, Pasty!" I called. She didn't stop walking, but she looked over her shoulder at me.

"Stalker!"

I finally caught up, slinging my arm around her. "What was that you said?"

Her blue lips curled into a smile. "I said you are a STALKER!"

"I'm only walking my friend home! How is that stalking?" I argued happily.

"It's stalking 'cus I don't want you here!" Gwen laughed.

"Oh please," I rolled my eyes, "you would be scared shitless without me here."

She gave me a doubtful look. "Have you seen me? I'm not exactly a damsel in distress!"

I nodded my head. "Yeah, you're hardly _the Princess_." The thought of Courtney brought a sour taste to my mouth.

"_THE_ Princess?" Gwen questioned.

I sighed. "Eh, she's just a girl who's a cold pain in my ass."

Gwen nodded knowingly. "So, your girlfriend then?" Her breath was like little ghosts of bitter air.

"Don't sound so sad, Pasty!" I laughed, elbowing her. My chuckles died down when I realized she wasn't laughing along. I cleared my throat. "Nah, man, she's my ex. The D-man is single as a Pringle."

"Oh."

I glanced over; she was hugging herself, shivering.

"My ex was pretty cold too," she said quietly.

I yanked off my hoodie. "Yeah, but," I draped it over her shoulders, "you're sunshine! No one could make you cold!"

Gwen nuzzled into the black cotton. "T-thanks," she smiled, teeth chattering.

I put my arm around her again. "Don't worry, Sunshine. I won't let you freeze."

We walked along down the middle of the road like that for a minute or two when I had to say something else. "So if you're in such a hurry, why aren't we running?"

I felt Gwen shrug under my arm. "They were home a long time ago so it doesn't really matter when I get back; they're gonna be mad anyway."

I smiled. A sneaky idea had formed in my head.

"Are you up for a little detour?"


End file.
